


Kink Meme Fills (Collection)

by sugarboat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Begging, CBT, Chastity Device, Gravity Falls kink meme, Groveling, M/M, Other, Silly, Stupid shit, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: My fills for the kink meme!





	1. Bill/Ford, in a box (T)

__

It's my triangle in a box, yeah yeah

He didn’t wanna say his brother had gone off the deep end. It’d been a long 30 years for the both of them, and hell, Stan knew he wasn’t any sort of prize anymore. And Ford had always been the sharper tack between the two of them, even if that tack was still dull enough to be tricked into almost ending the world. Let the past be the past, Stan said. They had at least a couple good years left in each of them, and they were going to make the most of it.

So yeah, he didn’t want to say Ford had gone off the deep end, but what else was there to say when he walks in on this. 

Ford, studiously taking notes. Nothing out of the ordinary there – Ford could find something worth writing about in the crumpled remains of an old sock. 

A tiny, violently shaking glass box. A little weirder, but again, something Stan would expect from Ford. The main concern with this factor is when the hell did his mad scientist of a brother find the time to build it, and what did he take apart to do so. 

Inside the box, an even tinier triangle guy, screeching obscenities as he’s jostled around. The most worrying factor in this equation, as Ford might say. 

“-THIS INSTANT YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE WILL WISH YOU’D NEVER BEEN BORN – HAH, NOT LIKE THEY DON’T ALREADY, AM I RIGHT? AND- OW!-”

On and on and on. It’s pretty annoying, overall, and only a little funny because of the way the triangle’s outraged voice modulates slightly up and down as he’s bounced around the interior of the box. Ford acts like he doesn’t hear a word, but Stan can see his hand clenched tight around his pen, knuckles and veins bulging. Maybe it’s time to interfere with… whatever this is. 

“Uh… Ford?” His brother doesn’t answer. Stan clears his throat. “Whatcha, uh… doing?” Still nothing, but Ford’s shoulders have hunched up, so Stan knows he’s listening. Stan begins to reach a hand out towards him. “What’s with the, uh, triangle and the box?” 

Ford turns very slowly and very stiffly to face him, and Stan finds himself freezing, hand hanging in the air awkwardly between them. Ford is wearing the creepiest grin Stan thinks he’s ever seen, and that’s including all the faces Dipper was pulling during Mabel’s Sock Opera.

“Bad and naughty children get put in The Pear Wiggler to atone for their crimes,” Ford says. And then he returns to the box and the triangle, and jeez, Stan can hear his pen scratching across the page. 

Stan lets his hand drop and backs out of the room.

“Oookay, good chat, Sixer.” He closes the door behind him, but it only barely muffles the continuous screeching. They should dock soon. Ford’s gone off the deep end.


	2. Ford/Bill, groveling for forgiveness (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Either of them apologizes to the other, very very humbly.

__

I guess you got what you're after (if you're after a life on your knees)

“I’ve been thinking,” Bill said. Ford didn’t move, but he felt his pulse quicken, just an extra beat or two each minute. “It’s getting kinda boring around here, isn’t it?” 

Ford clenched his fists. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten evicted out of his home dimension that he’d realized he could be just as much the fighting type as Stanley. Part of him wished he couldn’t be goaded so easily, but the majority of him wanted to punch Bill squarely in his stupid, smug eye. The fake muse seemed oblivious to Ford’s bubbling ire, slitted pupil revolving in shallow circular motions as he watched himself swirl some glowing pink liquid about a martini glass. _Seemed_ being a key word in this situation, because even if Bill no longer had an open invitation to squat in his mind, the demon was almost preternaturally tuned to his emotions. And never failed to use said attunement for any purpose outside of prodding him violently. 

Bill titled his glass, appearing to empty his drink onto the floor, but a mouth sprouted from the blackened grout between the tiles of the fearamid and swallowed the no doubt alcoholic ichor. Ford shifted on his knees, eying the glossy bricks he’d been forced to kneel upon, suddenly uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. Bill turned to look at him, glaring, and let his glass fall to shatter on the tiles, eliciting a yelp from the apparently sentient flooring. 

“Well? Aren’t you gonna ask why?” Bill continued to scowl at him, and then began laughing. “Oh yeah, I forgot!” He snapped his fingers, and the bridle-like gag that he’d personally shoved into Ford’s mouth days ago dissolved into a thick, sour slime that Ford had to spit out onto the floor, hunching over and gagging. The scientist turned dimensional hobo could feel it dripping in viscous lines down the sides of his face, gooey in his hair, coating his tongue like maple syrup. “Hey, don’t puncture a lung down there – I’m pretty sure they turn horses into glue for that offense, too!” 

Fingers ran through his hair then, though they jerked back the moment they touched the trail of mystery liquid that had drenched him. An arm emerged from the floor, soft fingers wiping off his mouth that Ford immediately tried to pull away from. The various other restraints littered across his body, having not transitioned from a solid state to a liquid, held tight – he could turn his head, but it wasn’t nearly enough to escape the sardonically gentle touch. 

“Aww, what’s wrong? You used to like it when I pet you! Remember?” Bill’s eye went fuzzy like an old TV set, and then light poured out of it like a projector. Instead of displaying anywhere in front of the demon, the ground beneath Ford’s hands – that was liberally splattered with the disgusting ooze he’d heaved out – lit up. Ford was still long enough to watch a grainy image of himself appear. An image of himself that was obviously moaning, writhing in a tangle of pitch black limbs. Heat rose to his face, in much the same way bile rose in the back of his throat, and he shut his eyes. 

“And do you know what else I remember?” Ford felt a small weight settle on his head. “Come on, this one should be a fond memory for you!” Fingers alighted on his face, bracketing his eyes, and they peeled his eyelids apart, so he was forced to watch as the floor lit itself up again with a new image. Bill was on his head, diminutive in a way he hadn’t bothered to be in so long, fluffing up his hair as though they were back in the mindscape. 

On the ground, like an old home video, Ford watched himself burst into the nightmare dimension, guns blazing. The camera panned to linger on the smoldering remains of one of the nameless monsters Ford had slain on his final visit to that shifting, in between world, and a sad cascade of violins began playing. He rolled his eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the attitude! Trevor – wait, or was it Travis? Maybe Terrorizer? Anyway, he was an integral part of both my plans and my crew! This is a stirring memorial to his lifetime of achievements! I’d pour some out, but getting the monolithic nightmare castle you’re currently residing in drunk is against most interdimensional construction laws!” Ford didn’t even need to see Bill to know that the sudden silence was Bill realizing A) something was illegal and, therefore, B) that he should do it. The hands that had been holding him captive let go, sinking back into the floor. 

“Bill,” Ford said, mostly because he didn’t want to see what a drunk fearamid was like. His voice was scratchy and rough, either from the recent disuse or the not-so-recent constant, agonized screaming. He’d actually had to make multiple attempts before any sound would come out at all. “What’s your point?” The movie playing below had finally focused back on him, diving heroically into the Quadrangle of Qonfusion, but at his words the image of Ford on the screen stopped dead in his tracks, instead turning to the camera to look outraged. 

“Fordsy! Why, I’m shocked! I’m stunned! Absolutely flabbergasted!” Bill hopped off his head to float in front of him instead. Ford craned his neck up to watch him, irritated because he _knew_ , just knew, that was what Bill wanted to him to do. “I’ve never seen you be so cold – well, except to your brother, your family, and basically anyone that has ever mistakenly put their trust in you! But to me? It hurts, IQ!” 

Being reminded of his family just reminded him that they were _here_ , somewhere, just as caught as he was, though hopefully without the personal attentions of a megalomania-riddled demon. Ford swallowed around a stone in his throat, in his chest, and focused instead on the annoyance Bill provided, a constant burr jammed into the soft flesh of his side. Bill drew closer to him, and laid a small hand on either side of his face. A light pressure in his fingertips that encouraged Ford to lean forward, to come nearer. It felt surprisingly insidious for such an innocuous gesture, and left heat curling through his body that was entirely unwelcome.

“Why are you bored, Bill?” Best to just get this out of the way. Bill no doubt wanted to play some infuriating and humiliating game, and was trying to let out enough lead for Ford to get himself tangled up in. Swallow the bait whole, and it at least took some of the sport out of it. 

“I’m touched you asked, Sixer! And here I was, thinking you didn’t care about me anymore!” Ford almost leapt out of his skin when another hand emerged from the ground and ran up the midline of his chest, trailed a finger across his heavy collar before fading away again. “Silly me! I mean, you’ve managed to alienate or disappoint everyone else in your life, who else do you have but me?”

Ford’s gaze dropped to the floor that, thankfully, was no longer acting as a video screen. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to look at himself just this moment. Bill’s hands dropped away from him. An opportunity would come, he knew. An opportunity to put an end to all of this, once and for all. He just had to be patient. He had to endure. For Stanley. For the kids. For the entirety of Gravity Falls. The edge of Bill’s cane tapped against the crown of his head and he grit his teeth. _Endure_.

“Anyway, back to the topic at hand!” Ford got to watch a hand sprout out from dark cracks in the bricks this time, disgusted at the way it blossomed and unfurled. It took his chin between its fingers and redirected his gaze upwards again. “Me! You! Now I’m not one to ruin a good thing, and let me tell you, the martyred victim, bravely suffering _Stanford Pines: Special Edition_ is a real treat!” Bill ruffled his hair while Ford clenched his jaw so hard a weird buzzing filled his ears. “But I have to be honest, things were more a lot fun when there was a real challenge to the whole forceful dimensional takeover spiel!” 

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck him. This was it! Could it really be? It had to be! Bill was letting his arrogance, his utter assurance he’d won blind him, and Ford was going to leap at this chance, whatever it may be. Ford tried to clamp down on his excitement, but Bill’s eye was curving like he was in on a private joke. 

“You’re interested, right? Don’t try to pretend you’re not, I know that look, Fordsy!” A sudden weight was lifted off him, and Ford thought it was metaphorical for a moment until he realized that literal weights had dropped off him. He swallowed and the collar was still in place, evidenced by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed roughly against the tight metal, but the others – manacles around his wrists, his ankles, strange chains that wrapped around his thighs to force him into a bent position, crisscrossing restraints that constricted his lungs and connected to the floor at his sternum by a short shackle, kept him pulled down like a groveling, subservient beast – all gone. There was a moment where he remained frozen, inches off the ground, a deer trapped in one-eyed headlights, and then apparently Ford remembered how to move himself. He cleared his throat as he straightened.

“I have to admit, Bill,” he began, somehow managing to drift into his lecturer voice. He even adjusted his eyeglasses. “I am intrigued. What did you have in mind?” It was simple, somehow, to ignore all the context surrounding this conversation. 

“Well, as far as this dimension goes, you Pines have been the only real challenge I’ve faced! Not that _that_ has amounted to much, but you take what you can get, am I right?” Bill drifted to his side and propped an elbow up on Ford’s shoulder, gesturing in circles with his free hand. “Now of all the Pines, you’ve been the most, uh, formidable! But I can’t just let you go, after all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you back here again!” 

Ford took a deep breath. He didn’t want to spoil whatever mood Bill had gotten into, but this conversation wasn’t going quite the way he had hoped it would. Bill floated off his shoulder, blinking out of sight from his periphery and into his direct line of vision. 

“So here’s my offer! I willing to let ONE of the Mystery Twins 2.0 go free!” Ford couldn’t even try to hold in his excitement. Dipper or Mabel – he would be able to get one of them out of this hellhole! And certainly, they weren’t comparable to himself in terms of capability, and it was wholly cruel and unfair to heap such a responsibility on them, but they had a better chance than anyone else to figure out a way to free Ford. Allow him the time to fix all this. “Yeah yeah, but you have to do something for me, first!” 

“What do you want me to do?” Even to his own ears, he sounded eager and it made him cringe inside. But what wouldn’t he do for those kids?

“Oh, it’s easy enough! I just want one little thing from you,” Bill said, sounding uncharacteristically charming. “An apology!” 

Now, for whatever reason, Ford felt the beginning of apprehension drawing in. Like he could see the sharp angled jaws of a trap cinching closed around him. It galled him to no end. He could pull his head back, and get nothing – back in chains, the status quo maintained. Safe and sound and mired in the same swamp he’d been in before. Or he could bare his neck to poisoned fangs and hope that, somehow, he survived the impact. Bill had the upper hand, as he always managed to have, and the demon was currently examining his nails, like he had all the time in multiverse. Which Ford supposed he had, considering time was dead. For the time being.

There was nothing more to be done, really.

“I’m sorry,” Ford said. It sounded like his mother had a hold of his ear, pinching it brutally while Stan huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Good start, but that wasn’t super believable, was it?” Bill had dropped his hand down, and was smirking at him. Ford cleared his throat again.

“I mean it. I’m sorry, Bill.” 

“Oh, I don’t know Fordsy, do you really mean it?” 

Ford clenched his jaw tight. “I don’t know how else to put it, Bill. If you don’t believe me, what’s the point in this exercise?” 

“There are ways you could convince me!” That was exactly what he’d feared. Ford let out a long suffering sigh.

“And what could I do to convince you that I’m sincere?” A brief silence stretched between them, fragile and vulnerable. Ford broke it first. “I am sorry, Bill.”

“Hmmm,” Bill said, looking upwards. He tapped a finger against his surface, pretending to give hard thought to Ford’s words. “Nah, I’m not buying it - you’re the genius here, you should be able to figure something out!”

With that, Bill snapped his fingers and a fresh drink appeared in his outstretched hand. The demon settled upon a throne that seemed to have appeared in the brief span of a blink. His eye warped into a mouth, which opened showing off white and curving fangs, and a bruise mottled tongue dripped out, its tip running along the edge of his glass. And then Bill tossed the drink back, ending with a broad grin. 

Ford remained where he stood, his spine feeling like steel rebar. His fists were clenched so tightly that he could feel the bite of his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He walked a few steps closer to the throne, looking down on Bill from his slightly elevated position. Bill blinked, his eye coming back out, almost a challenge. Waiting for Ford to choose. He sucked in another deep breath, and his eyes dropped to the base of the throne. And then Ford dropped down to one knee, crouched for a moment in the mocking mimicry of a proposal, and then he fell further to his other knee, and bowed his head. It burned all along his core, to be back on his knees without chains dragging him down.

“I’m sorry, Bill – truly,” he managed to murmur, around the disgust for himself that threatened to tie his tongue. The demon said nothing, and Ford kept his eyes glued to the almost ground. He watched in a distant manner the way Bill’s sticklike legs kicked in thought. The muscles between his shoulderblades quivered and ached, as he tried to keep his posture firm, and the silence stretched on. Ford finally risked a glance upwards. 

“I dunno Fordsy,” Bill said, inspiring a heavy, sinking feeling in his gut. “It’s just not coming out sincere!”

There were at least a hundred things Ford had the urge to call Bill, but he bit his tongue quite literally, and focused on the firm feeling of the ground under his knees. He looked back down, staring at his six fingered hands resting on his thighs, and shuddered. And then lowered himself even further, placing his hands palm down and flat against the smooth tile, bending over until his head was hovering over the scant space stretching between his fingers. 

“Bill,” Ford began, and swallowed, and forced himself to continue, “my muse.” It felt like the world around them jolted to a halt, a deadly and thrumming potential energy filling up the air. Ford thought of staring down a snake about to lunge, but it didn’t clear the distaste from his mouth as he went on. “I am not worthy of your leniency.” 

“No, you really aren’t, are you?” Bill sounded different, but Ford was hard pressed to say what quality, precisely, had slipped into his tormentor’s affect. He could only hope that the change, whatever it signaled, meant he was doing something right.

“I’m not.” He wanted to vomit. “You gave me- so much, and I-” Ford swallowed again, his mouth feeling dry “-I spurned all your gifts.” His fingers had curled, to dig and scratch at the ground. He tried to focus on the pain in their tips. It didn’t help for long, as soon he felt just the slightest weight on the back of his head, and it only took him a moment to piece two and two together and realize that Bill had kicked his _feet_ up on him, was using him like a foot stool while Ford shamed himself for his amusement. Heat burned in his face, down his neck, across the top of his chest. And disgustingly, pooled somewhere lower, in the pit of his stomach, and was only stoked as Bill applied pressure and forced him down even further, closer to the ground.

“You’re getting closer – I almost believed that one! But there’s just some level of contriteness I’m not getting here, a certain _I don’t know what_!” Anger threatened to overwhelm him at Bill’s blatant stubbornness, and like a mantra, he had to remind himself again and again that he was doing this for Dipper. Or Mabel. Bill’s feet were still on his head, and one of them had transitioned to tapping lightly against his skull. _Swallow the bait_ , Ford thought, and sunk down even lower, until his forehead came in contact with the cool tiles of the fearamid. It felt like he was prostrating himself, exposing himself, baring himself to the world, which he supposed was the point of the whole exercise, but he arched his back as he did so, and he felt a minute tremble shaking down his spine. 

“I beg you, Bill,” Ford said, aware of how close his lips were to brushing the ground. “Forgive me.” It sounded contrite. It sounded like – did he mean it? Silence spread thick between them again.

“Wow.” Hope squirmed inside his chest like a thick and wriggling worm. “That sounded really heartfelt, Fordsy. I dunno, though – what do you guys think?” 

The muscles along his stomach clenched violently, and Ford felt very cold. All around him, very abruptly, he could hear loud voices laughing, jeering, every high school bully, every scholar that had turned their nose up at him combined into one. And the worst part was, Ford was still in control of himself. When his body twitched and jerked, it was of his own volition and will. Nothing was holding him down, nothing was forcing him to remain where he was, groveling at the feet of the monster who continued to find new things to strip away from him. His breathing was coming quick and shallow, and he couldn’t even understand the individual words of the monsters around him. He concentrated on Bill, his demeaning touch a lifeline in the maelstrom.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Ford said, his voice quivering. The backs of his eyes were stinging.

“Oh, I know you are, Fordsy,” Bill replied. “I know you are.”


	3. Bill/Ford - tentacles + breath, blood, or chastity play (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or some sort of mindscape shenanigans. 
> 
> don't let your dreams be dreams

__

The fire in my bones

_One day – or night, to be more precise – Bill had asked him, “did you know vampires are real?”_

_“I’d always had my suspicions,” Ford had answered, and made a mental note to search the shady areas of Gravity Falls for some._

_“You know what I always found weird about them, Sixer?”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“The whole, ‘having to invite them in,’ thing,” Bill had said, and eyes had flicked to life in the great darkness surrounding them and then faded out again. “Seems like a waste of time to me!”_

_“Hmmm,” Ford hummed, considering. “I always found the fangs strange – where do they come from? They’re much longer than human canines. I believe some authors have speculated that a new set of canines grows from the gums. If we could harness something like that, vampirism might just be a decent cure for cavities!”_

_“Might wanna do another cost-benefit analysis there, IQ.”_

Ford was drumming his fingers relentlessly against his desk, because he couldn’t wiggle his leg as he would under more usual circumstances, because he was convinced that Fiddleford would finally notice. Honestly, he couldn’t believe F hadn’t noticed the first day he’d put it on. Not that he wore tight fitting pants or ever came exceptionally close to his research partner, but with the way it felt on him – on _himself_ , a delicate (and sturdy, far too sturdy) cage, heavy and constrictive – well, it felt like anyone who was in the same room with him for long would know. 

His attitude probably wasn’t helping much either. Jumpy and distracted, prone to flinching at F’s touches, Ford hadn’t felt this way since… ever. He had never felt this way. His thoughts constantly circulated to the chastity device around his cock, which led to the non-physical entity who had convinced him to put it on in the first place, which led to a downward rush of blood so forceful it almost left him dizzy. And when he was aroused – far more often than he was particularly comfortable with – the bindings around him gave the beginning tingles of pain, pressing back hard against his tender flesh until he could feel his pulse throbbing in his dick, an ache that grew sharper and sharper until it was all Ford could think about. 

It was a downward spiral that Bill Cipher was at the bottom – and the top - of.

Oh, and there was one more factor contributing to the misery he’d somehow consented to, and it had to do with the quiet laughter he could hear in his mind. It sent a cool wave of prickling skin across his body, excitement and dread pooling molten and quiet in his stomach. Ford licked his lips and cleared his throat. Tried to concentrate on the equations and sketches outlined on the page before him. A nigh impossible task, as he felt the sensation of hands on his inner thighs, fingers that dug into the meat of his legs, so close to where he (suddenly, desperately) needed to be touched. They dragged downwards and vanished at his knees, leaving his entire body thrumming like a plucked string in their wake.

There would be, Ford knew from experience, nothing there if he glanced down. It was just Bill, messing with the relay center of his brain, convincing his neurons and receptors that something physical, tangible was there. A thought that proved to be both disturbing and thrilling. He felt warm air at the crook of his neck, soft lips and then a wet, squirming tongue. His hands were clenched into fists and he had read the same sentence at least 5 times by now. More of those phantom hands, then, that settled on his hips, thumbs digging in just below the swooping posterior crest of his bones and fingers kneading at the junction of his hip and leg. Stroking upwards over the clenched and quivering muscles of his lower abdomen, occasionally slipping beneath the waist of his slacks. 

And more. One hallucinogenic hand walking fingers up the bumps of his spine at a leisurely pace, one trailing up and down the midline of his stomach. A pair that clutched at his knees like a supplicant, steadily encouraging him to spread his legs, a wordless beg for him to yield. _Please_ echoed in his mind. It wasn’t Bill’s voice but it made his hips jerk all the same. Something nipped along the sensitive flesh right at the corner of his jaw, and Ford’s head titled, just slightly, as if to allow it more room to explore. The sensation simply dissipated altogether and Ford clenched his jaw shut tight.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gave him a small shake, followed by a voice that was decidedly _not_ in his head.

“Stanford?” Ford flinched so hard his knees banged up into the underside of his desk. It was a welcome distraction from Bill’s hands that were still pawing all over his body. “You doin’ all right there? You look about as nervous as a long tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.” 

“F-fine!” The word came out a little high-pitched and strangled, as Bill chose that precise moment to wrap a hand around his fully encaged length. Ford was certain he was dying. “Fine, I’m fine, Fidds.” 

“You been not sleeping again? I tell you, Ford, you’re gonna run yourself ragged if you keep this up.” 

Soft fingers caressed against him, running over his sensitive flesh where it bulged out between the rings of his device, inciting a bolt of heat to lance through his body, a pulse in his dick that was borderline painful. Ford grit his teeth and sucked in a shaky breath, and Fidds chose that moment to lean around to his side and press his free hand over his forehead. 

“You’re looking a little flushed, are you coming down with something?” 

“Ah, y-you know, you may-” Bill _squeezed_ around him. “-May have a point. I don’t – I think I need a, uh, moment.”

“Sure, sure, Ford – whatever you need.” 

_Whatever you need, IQ,_ he heard echo through his mind, _you just gotta ask for it, right?_ Ford bit his cheek almost violently. 

“Yes, uh, please excuse me Fiddleford.” Ford reached up with a shaky hand and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze to the one Fidds still had planted on his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after some r-rest.” A mouth was nibbling at the inside of his thigh. 

Fidds wasn’t moving, oh god, why wasn’t he moving away. Didn’t he have work to do? The mechanic had dropped his hand from his forehead but was watching him intently, and Ford felt the familiar jangling tune of paranoia kick in the back of his mind. _He knows, he knows, F knows-_

“I think so,” Fidds said, and Ford tried not to sigh with relief. “Get all the rest you need, partner, I can finish up today’s work here.”

With that, the mechanic gave him one final, comraderic clap on the shoulder and sauntered off back to the skeletal framework of the portal. Ford waited, drumming his fingers on the table, willing his erection to go down. It wasn’t insanely effective. His cock was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, each spike causing his flesh to press harder against unyielding metal. The tip of his cock remained free, at least, with nothing but a tight ring nestled just below its leaking and hypersensitive head, but he could feel the zipper of his slacks digging in even through the cotton of his boxers. 

F started whistling some folksy song, the subterranean room filling again with heat and the sizzling, popping sounds of his blow torch (which, by the way, Ford was still relatively certain Fidds used more for fun and sport than out of any necessity.) Ford extracted himself from his desk carefully, hissing through his teeth as the soft material of his clothing shifted over him with every movement. As subtly as was possible, he tried to adjust himself. It didn’t do much, and Ford resigned himself to fleeing the scene as quickly as possible without arousing any more suspicion from his partner. 

Walking was a nightmare. Everything thought in his head, every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to rip his clothes off, to go right to the top drawer of his dresser and retrieve the key to this damned thing, to finally get release from the torture Bill had made certain he’d been in for the last three days. He bit his bottom lip and placed both his palms flat on the cool wall of the lift, pretending like they were made of stone, bound to the wall so he would be less tempted to follow through with his baser instincts. His head remained bowed between his arms until he heard the quiet chime signifying he’d reached the ground level. 

In defiance to himself, he moved slowly when he walked through his living room, tingling radiating outwards from his core. Ford had planned to go to his room, where at least he could lie down until his body finally calmed, but all at once his mind was filled with the sensation of Bill flooding into his mind. It was like being engulfed in a great wave, one that lifted him off his feet and sent him tumbling head over heels. Like a blinding light, a crushing weight, a glass overfilled with water that stayed only from the fragile bounds of tension. An animal with its jaws hovering around his neck, or more apt, a mythical beast so grand in scope that Ford could be crushed beneath its paws without it even taking notice. 

A creature, colossal and otherworldly, that had paused to stop midstride and spotted him. Not just by happenstance, no, it was a creature that had _been_ stopped by him – he, Ford, a human, had drawn a muse out of the stars, out of ancient legend, and now it crouched among mortals, letting itself be known only to him. One that recognized his inherent worth, his potential, his genius among the dull spark of humanity. One that visited and teased him, only him, knew him inside and out, knew every cord to pluck, every string to play, and had never once strummed the wrong cord. 

Bill made them stop halfway down the hallway to his room, and ducked into the bathroom instead. His muse was apparently in a sharing mood, as he allowed Ford to close the door behind them, and when they looked at themself in the mirror, Ford felt like both of them were smiling. 

“What’s up, Sixer?” Bill leaned closer to their reflection, and Ford could see how blown their pupils were, the flush that burned across their cheeks.

“B-Bill, please,” Ford breathed, embarrassed at the way his voice sounded to his own ears. Bill laughed in response, a laugh that Ford could never hope to replicate without his muse’s presence. His muse hiked up the layers of his shirt and vest, revealing skin that still prickled with the memory of Bill’s ghostly touches, and then set about undoing his pants, freeing Ford’s erection that sprung upwards, curving towards his abdomen. The air felt chilling against his burning skin.

“Oh, I think I see!” Ford watched himself wrap a hand around his aching length and he moaned, unrestrained. His cock was red and swollen, bulging out almost vulgarly between the six metal rings encasing him from root to tip. They were all connected by a chain stretching along the top of his dick, and all of it closed tight by the clasp of one solitary lock. Bill moved their hand up and down, viscous ripples of pain and pleasure stabbing through him at his touch, through his gut, mingling together so that they were impossible to disentangle.

“O-oh god, Bill.” His legs were actually shaking, and he or Bill had to put a grounding hand on the edge of the sink. It was agonizing, on the verge of overstimulation, and Ford watched a steady stream of thin precum drooling out of his cock while Bill worked their hand up and down, twisting his wrist and wringing him out for all he was worth. 

“You’ve been so good, Fordsy,” Bill said, and even he sounded out of breath. “Are you ready for your reward?” 

“Y-yes, Bill, please-”

Bill clenched his fist around him and Ford had to grit his teeth, a reedy whimper escaping the back of his throat. 

“Do you think you _deserve_ it?” 

Ford swallowed, a lump in his throat, unsure what to say. Did he deserve it? Hadn’t he done everything his muse had asked? But he knew, didn’t he, that doing all that was asked of you wasn’t always enough. Perhaps he should have been more ambitious, more driven, accomplished more each day without Bill having to hold his hand-

“Just kidding! Of course you do!” Bill ran their thumb in small circles over the head of his dick. Ford’s hips twitched fitfully, and Bill withdrew his hand. He gave their reflection a pair of finger guns and a wink, and then just left the bathroom, cock still jutting out. “Don’t worry, IQ, your little buddy’s still downstairs fixing up our portal.” 

Bill stuck their thumb in his mouth, noisily slurping off the fluid he’d gathered there. Ford was finding it hard to concentrate beyond the spiking pain in his cock, the strangling grip of the rings around him, the promise of Bill releasing him, finally. They came to his room and rather than retrieve the key, Bill flopped their body onto the bed, and Ford found himself dragged out of the physical world into the mindscape. 

Here Ford was removed from the blazing fire ravaging through his body. His eyes opened to utter blackness, a sky that had had its stars expertly excised. One by one eyes ripped open in the dark, the light coming off of them like spotlights that were focused solely on Ford. A facet of his muse. He remembered what Bill had told him once, about how his true form was incomprehensible, how glimpses of it could cause _nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and complete and total lunacy!_ Of course, a warning had never been sufficient to stop him from trying something himself, and the result left Ford with a throbbing migraine and violent stomach cramps that lasted for the next day and a half. 

“LONG TIME NO SEE, STANFORD PINES!” echoed through the mindscape. “OH WAIT, NOT THAT LONG AT ALL – I’M ALWAYS WATCHING!” 

Something cool and slick wrapped around his ankle, a thick leathery hide drenched in oils, and Ford quivered. It wound in loose coils up his leg, leaving his skin feeling wet and prickled with goosebumps. With his acceptance of the first, more and more sprouted off, slinking around his midsection, lifting him even in the nebulous dimension he currently floated in. They roamed over his skin, greedy and insistent, mapping across every inch of his body.

“The portal’s almost finished,” Ford replied, surprised at how steady his voice came out, particularly as a reed thin tentacle wound around his cock, mimicking the chains bound about it in the waking world. Rather than the sharp, unyielding force the chastity device was, the tentacle swirled and milked up and down his length, drawing a long, throaty moan from the captive man. 

“Sure, sure, you’re doing great!” Bill said, excited and dismissive in the same tone. “But that’s not what we’re here for!” 

The tendrils around him pulled his arms behind his back, bent at his elbows, twisting around each other and pulling harder, harder. Until his shoulders ached in their joints, until his back was arched and his chest was flexed outward. The ones around his legs splayed him, bending his legs forward, exposing him fully. It would be mortifying in any other situation, but Bill was the only other one here. This was all for him, Ford reminded himself, heat pooling in his gut and burning in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

The thin tendril around his cock kept creeping upwards, wrapping around the base of his length and then around his balls. Ford shuddered, spreading his legs. More eyes opened around him, but he was nearly beyond noticing. The tentacle swirled around his cock, left and then right, over and over, and Ford could feel himself drawing towards the edge already – no doubt from the relentless teasing Bill had subjected him to during the day. And then the part of the cord wrapped tight around his sack yanked downwards, hard, and it was like all the breath had been knocked out of him, his body jack knifing so hard in his bounds that he was sure, sure it was going to leave bruises, even in his physical flesh. Ford let out a keening wail.

A separate tentacle, thick and slimy, slammed itself into his mouth when he opened it, diving deep into his throat. Ford thrashed in his binds, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, and Bill held him there for second after excruciating second until he calmed again, the pain becoming a dull, throbbing pulse that lingered in the background of the pleasant haze the rest of Bill’s actions had left him in. The tentacle in his throat drew backwards, flicking purposefully against his uvula as it withdrew, Ford coughing and hacking when it was freed from his mouth. 

“B-Bill, w-what-” His voice came out rough, his throat sore and raw. 

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Sixer?” Bill asked, and before Ford could answer continued, “because I am!”

It was difficult for Ford to deny his muse anything, after Bill had given him so much and requested so little in return. If this was what Bill liked, who was he to refuse? And it wasn’t as though any of it was entirely unpleasant for Ford. A few moments of discomfort, in exchange for finally being able to give something, anything back to his muse. 

“Oh, Fordsy,” Bill said, and the tentacle squirmed itself back into his mouth, thrusting shallowly in and out a few times, until saliva leaked over his bottom lip and down his chin in stretchy strings. A slick tendril pressed at his entrance, and Ford canted his hips towards it, inviting. 

In one movement, the tentacle thrust its tapered tip inside him, its girth rapidly growing as it pushed deeper and deeper. Ford moaned around the tendril in his mouth, lapping at like an animal in heat. The tentacle withdrew and then dove in deeper, repeating again and again, each thrust filling him more fully, giving him everything he craved so badly and that cowardice restricted him from asking for. 

And then the loop around his sack tightened again, and pulled downwards, sharp and brutal, trapping the air in his lungs, and the tentacles at his mouth and ass both slammed inside him, making Ford feel as though he had been impaled. The worst part was how the rest of the tendril continued to work his cock, how the tentacle thrusting inside him squirmed against his prostrate, keeping him hard and leaking, his body begging for everything Bill had to give him. 

“You’re perfect, IQ – the whole package!” The tendril eased off him again, the thick ones at either end of him slamming inside, in precise synchronization, his body shaking and stretched around them. It was good, so good, too good. Tears had spilled out of his eyes, were running in trails down his cheeks, and yet there was nothing coming from him but constant, muffled moans. “You’re mine, Stanford Pines, mine.” 

The thick lines of living shadow around his limbs tightened and tightened, pulling on him, stretching him out, holding him open so that Bill could continue to fuck him exactly how he pleased. Ford couldn’t protest – couldn’t even gather the thoughts to protest, his body clenching tight around the intrusions inside him, his throat constricting in muscular rings. _More_ was the only thought in his brain, _please, more_ and he prayed in some distant portion of his mind that Bill could hear him.

The tentacles felt as though they were getting more frantic, wracking Ford back and forth with each thrust. Ford could feel the orgasm that had been building for _days_ now encroaching fast upon him, and he whimpered incessantly, any idea of shame or denial completely forced from his mind. The tendril his mouth abruptly withdrew, and Ford could finally speak aloud.

“Please, please, Bill, oh god, please,” he murmured, practically delirious, and abruptly he was awake again, lying in his bedding, his body hot and flushed and his cock straining.

The device had been removed – when had Bill slipped away to take it off? – and Bill was steadily moving his hand, jerking and twisting his wrist as he worked him towards orgasm. It only took a few frantic strokes before Ford was crying out in a strained voice, coming over his hand, forcefully enough that splattered in dense globs over his stomach and up his chest. So strong that Ford was pretty sure his eyes rolled back into his head, and darkness swept over him again.

And then he was floating again, but this time Bill was there, triangular and curious, one black finger tapping on his nose.

“Wow, Fordsy, I think you passed out!” 

“Uh, it looks that way, doesn’t it?” Ford said, trying not to feel mortified. Bill just smiled, a curving of his eye upwards, and ran his hands through his hair. 

“Ah, no sweat – I’m kinda glad you’re back here so soon!” 

Even with everything else warring within him, something warm and soft unfurled in his chest at his muse’s sincere and welcoming words. Ford relaxed into the darkness that buoyed him up like salt water, and Bill settled on his chest.

“Hey, IQ…”

“Yes, Bill?” 

“You want me to come to your dimension, right?” Bill asked, drawing little meaningless patterns across his chest with one hand. 

“Of course, Bill – you’re more than welcome in my dimension,” Ford answered. Bravely, he stretched out a hand, and dragged his fingers along the backside of Bill’s form, relishing the static-like discharge that sparked up from his fingertips at the touch. 

“Just making sure!” Bill said, and Ford felt limbs wrapping around his own, cradling him, and he relaxed into their grip, savoring the attention of his muse.


End file.
